


Two Hours' Traffic

by sarasusa



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh
Genre: M/M, Multi, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-26
Updated: 2010-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 17:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarasusa/pseuds/sarasusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: AU, a.k.a. the Mutougues and the Kaibalets. A Domino City wracked by civil strife--a chance meeting--an unexpected attraction...</p><p>Warnings: Language; sexual situations, esp. yaoi; and (ducks head) likely fatalities.</p><p>Spoilers: Doubtful.</p><p><em>The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love/...Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage...-</em> William Shakespeare</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No tengo derecho alguno a la propiedad intelectual representada por Yu-Gi-Oh!

Disclaimer: No tengo derecho alguno a la propiedad intelectual representada por Yu-Gi-Oh!

Author's Note: I'm using the Japanese names simply because they're the ones I'm used to, but in Western order (personal name/family name). Setting is not necessarily intended to be Japan.

Title: Two Hours' Traffic

Rating: PG-13 to R

Category: Romance/Tragedy

Pairings: Jounouchi/Mokuba, others

Summary: AU, a.k.a. the Mutougues and the Kaibalets. A Domino City wracked by civil strife-a chance meeting-an unexpected attraction...

Warnings: Language; sexual situations, esp. yaoi; and (ducks head) likely fatalities.

Spoilers: Doubtful.

* * *

_The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love/...Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage...-_William Shakespeare

**Two Hours' Traffic**

Chapter One

The slender young man sat in the bus shelter, resting his head against the glass wall that backed the bench. Despite his fantastical mop of hair-blond, crimson and black-and the array of buckles and black leather he sported, something about the way he held himself, something in the dimple beside his mouth, suggested that this was a very nice human being.

Shrieking gears heralded the arrival of a bus. The young man's eyelids fluttered open; he smiled an apology at the driver's questioning glance, and waved the vehicle on. After a moment, he got up, looked up and down the street. "Aah, Jounouchi," he said aloud, laughing and pushing his fingers through his hair. The gesture ended in a wince; he massaged his left cheekbone, and sighed before returning to his place on the bench.

Dusk had settled over the park behind him before he sighted the once- familiar, battered Toyota weaving through the flow of cars. He jumped to his feet as the car squealed to a stop in front of him.

"Jouno-"

"YUUG! Man, oh man!" The driver of the car bounded out, wrapped him in a punishing hug. "Damn, I've missed you, kid."

Yuugi had to catch his breath before replying. "Jounouchi." The other could hear the smile in his voice. "You're home."

They both jumped at the blare of a horn. Jounouchi blinked at the bus headlights looming behind his car. "Shit! Let's get moving." He thrust Yuugi into the car, leapt in after, and slammed the door.

"Changed much?" Yuugi said, glancing sidelong with a grin as they pulled away from the curb.

Jounouchi snorted. "Nah, not in ways that matter. 'Course, neither has Domino traffic. It took me two _hours_, Yuug, to get here from the highway exit. Hope you haven't been waiting too long-"

"'S all right," Yuugi cut off his friend's belated remorse. "You're here, that's good enough for me. Now Honda may be a different matter-he wanted to paint the town red with you tonight." Abruptly, Yuugi fell silent, raising a hand to his face.

After a moment, Jounouchi shot a glance at Yuugi. Without warning, he gave the other a friendly punch in the shoulder. Yuugi yelped in pain.

"Yuug!"

"Sorry," Yuugi managed.

"What's been going on? You're hurt." Jounouchi steered the vehicle sharply across several lanes of traffic, pulled into a store's parking lot, then turned a frowning look on his friend.

"Just got in the middle of something," Yuugi said, staring at his feet.

"I should never have left." Jounouchi spoke almost to himself. A browned hand turned Yuugi's face toward him, lingered on the bruise, then fell away.

"You had to follow your dream," Yuugi pointed out, voice gentle.

Jounouchi barked a laugh. "Yeah, well. A dream that hinges on getting someone to fall in love with you ain't much of a dream." His face creased. "I should have known. It's like that Beatles song-'Baby won't you drive my car, and maybe I'll love you.' And all that happened was I just fell harder for her." He fisted his hands on his lap.

"You also got your college education, and better job experiences than you could've found in Domino."

Looking up, Jounouchi caught Yuugi's eye. "Eh, you're still good at getting me sidetracked. Now I want answers out of you: Who's been knocking you around?"

Yuugi's gaze was somber. "If it were just me, that'd be different-but all Domino's gone crazy. And-well, Grandpa's right in the middle of it." In answer to Jounouchi's muffled curse, Yuugi added, "He didn't want us to tell you-figured you were well away from it all."

"Damn, Yuug, your family took me in when I when had nowhere to go. How could ya leave me in the dark? I gotta repay old Sugoroku for his faith in me, for adopting me."

The smaller man took a deep breath. "Remember those 'Bored? Try Kaiba!' billboards?"

"The ones right before I left, that we had no idea what they were about?"

"Well...unfortunately, we found out."

* * *

On every side, his fellow passengers were enthusiastically greeting family and friends. After a brief look around, the teen sighed and headed toward the moving walkway, shouldering his backpack. His brother was too busy to come meet him at the airport, he knew that-which was just as well considering the two hours the plane had spent circling.

The metallic floor of the walkway hummed as it carried him towards baggage claim and passenger pickup. How long had it been since they moved here? Four years? And for most of that time, he'd been away at boarding school. Away from the brother around whom his world revolved. He doubted Domino would ever feel like "home"-except that wherever Seto was, had to be home.

Dutifully, he watched his step as he got off the walkway-so he didn't notice the figure standing at the end until he collided with it.

"Mokuba," it said. And arms folded tight around him.

"Bro! You didn't have to come," Mokuba halfheartedly protested, squeezing back.

"You didn't have to take a commercial flight," Seto Kaiba corrected, releasing him and beckoning to one of his staff with a jerk of his head. The man-apparently used to such unspoken commands-immediately relieved Mokuba of his backpack; the two brothers headed past the luggage carrels and toward the revolving doors.

"I wanted to," Mokuba said, ready to pick up the well-worn argument. Seto's lips compressed. They didn't speak again until they were under the awning waiting for the Kaiba Corporation limousine.

Mokuba reached out and tugged at the lapel of Seto's casual business suit. "Looks like Otogi's given you a makeover, huh? No more dusters?"

"I felt it was time for a change," Seto said repressively, but there was a tiny lift to the corner of his mouth.

A silvery-blue limo glided to a stop in front of them. Mokuba frankly gaped at it, then looked up to see Seto watching for his reaction. "Needed a new one?" he commented, following his elder into the generously proportioned passenger's compartment.

"Hn," was the only response. They settled back into the white leather seating. Through the mirrored windows, Mokuba watched the skyscrapers of Domino's downtown grow larger.

"I couldn't come to your graduation. I'm sorry," Seto said abruptly.

"I know." It had hurt, of course. But after so many years of relying on each other, Mokuba could sense Seto's presence with him every step of the day, certainly felt fierce pride come rippling across the miles as the black folder encasing his diploma was placed in his hands. And he knew it had cost Seto greatly to make that admission.

"It's all right, Seto." He met his brother's steady blue gaze with a teasing smirk. "You're going to make it up to me anyway. You always do."

"Here," was all the other said, pushing a small contraption across the seat between them. Mokuba grabbed it up. "The new prototype?"

"Tell me what you think," Seto said, returning his attention to the scenery.

Engrossed in the game console, Mokuba didn't look up once while they sliced through downtown Domino, en route to the suburb where the Kaiba mansion was located. But as they approached KaibaCorp's headquarters, something-Mokuba didn't know what-prompted him to eye his brother.

Seto had stiffened, his brows drawing together. Curious, Mokuba slid over to his brother's side of the compartment.

Almost immediately after Seto inherited KC from their stepfather, a mere year or so after they came to Domino, Seto had commissioned a splendid statue of a dragon-the new corporate symbol-to stand in front of the KC Tower. The polished stone head, thrown back, gazed proudly over the park in front of the building; outspread wings seemed ready to lift the creature into the air; at this time of the evening, the bright lights trained on the figure made it appear to glow from within.

Now, however, there were service vehicles parked in front of the statue, and despite the lateness of the hour, workers were clambering over the dragon, doing-

"What?" Mokuba said under his breath. And found his answer.

A bucket or more of red paint had apparently been sloshed across the dragon's roaring mouth. In careful letters on the front of the plinth, someone had sprayed in the same color, "BLOOD OF DOMINO." Below that, and more sloppily, was painted: "KC OUT OF DOMINO CI"-Mokuba suspected the tagger had been interrupted at his work.

The car was moving again; Mokuba craned his head in time to see the workers level a high-powered hose at the dragon's muzzle. Water fanned out like an explosion of glass.

He sat back, opened his mouth, then closed it. Seto's eyes were shut tight.

With a sick little feeling, Mokuba watched a single tear trace its way down Seto's cheek. He looked away, and after a moment picked up the console again.

-to be continued-


	2. Two Hours' Traffic Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: His/theirs. Not mine. (See chapter one for extended prefatory notes.)

Disclaimer: His/theirs. Not mine. (See chapter one for extended prefatory notes.)

**Two Hours' Traffic**

_   
**Chapter Two**   
_

"So let me get this straight. Kaiba Corp. took over the entire gaming market and pushed the small shop owners out."

"As near as makes no difference," Sugoroku said darkly. "Still, that's the way of business. But they've also been known to use intimidation—threats, thuggery. And city government—from the mayor right down to the council and judges—is all on the side of KC. 'Good for the economy' they call it—good for lining their pockets."

"Newspapers too," Anzu put in from her perch on the sideboard. Jounouchi, crosslegged on the living room floor, canted his head back to look at her. "There's no question that KC's heavily invested in the media."

"So, with the Game Shop closed and a full head of steam, Grandpa decided it was time to dust off his old organizing techniques from the sixties." Yuugi yawned—he and Jounouchi had talked well into the wee hours the night before. "Sit-ins, work slowdowns, street theater. And the thing just snowballed from there."

Sugoroku settled forward, arms crossed on knees. "Young people nowadays-"

"Hey, that's us!" objected Honda, head propped on his fist as he lay on the floor. Jounouchi's oldest friend still looked like an athlete—powerfully built and clean-cut-though there were shadows around his eyes that Jounouchi didn't remember from before.

The old man tsked. "I'm thinking of the high schoolers, the middle schoolers. Care-for-nothings. Well, they care, but they want to create commotion more than anything."

"They did bring the idea up for discussion at the last meeting, Grandpa."

"But they didn't accept the group decision. No, they just listened, nodded, then went by themselves and did it anyway." Sugoroku got up with an audible creak and headed for the kitchen.

"Awright, I'm lost again. Just what did these high schoolers or whoever do?"

"Vandalized the KC statue—that white dragon—painted blood dripping from its mouth and wrote 'Death to KC' or some such," Honda told him.

"No, that wasn't it," Yuugi said over Jounouchi's low whistle. "It was 'Blood of Domino' and 'KC Out of Domino City,' only Dinosaur didn't get to complete the message."

Everyone turned to look at him.

"I was passing by on my lunch break, and ran over when I saw it happening—but there was no way of getting across the street in time to stop him."

"Dinosaur wouldn't've listened anyway," muttered Honda, tugging at one of Jounouchi's shoelaces; Jounouchi glared and shoved the hand away.

"And it was right then that Kaiba came out of the KC Tower?" Anzu asked.

Yuugi nodded, jumping up to take a tray of steaming cups of coffee from his grandfather.

"And you said—Is it true he, personally, knocked Ryuuzaki out?" Honda sat up.

"A grown man striking a high schooler! Disgraceful."

"Kaiba's no older than us, Grandpa."

"Hey, I thought Kaiba was an old man."

Sugoroku wiped coffee droplets off his mustache. "No, this is the son—the father died some years back. I'd be impressed by the son's entrepreneurship if he had anything else to redeem him, but so far as I can tell he has no heart."

Anzu drained her mug and slid to the floor. "Everyone has a heart. It's learning to use it that's the problem. Jounouchi-" she reached down to give him a one-armed squeeze, "come find me at work sometime and I'll treat you to lunch. Yuugi'll tell you where." She winked at him, dusted a kiss over the top of Yuugi's head, waved to Sugoroku and Honda and was gone.

"Well, maybe it's time all of you headed out to enjoy your Saturday before the July heat sets in. I have a few calls to make."

"Get the feeling we're being dismissed?" Honda stage-whispered to Jounouchi as they got up. "No wonder Dinosaur goes off on his own, if Grandpa throws his weight around this way. 'Group decision' my ass!"

Sugoroku merely sniffed in response, but caught hold of Jounouchi's jacket and tugged him down to stare the young man in the eye. "You—take care of Yuugi. It's mere luck he wasn't hurt along with Ryuuzaki."

"Sure, Gramps," laughed Jounouchi after the barest pause. "Trust Master Jounouchi—I'm back to set Domino City to rights!" He struck a pose.

Honda snorted, Yuugi grinned and even Sugoroku gave a reluctant chuckle. "It's good to have you back, boy."

"For comic relief if nothing more!" inserted Honda, flinging an arm around Jounouchi's shoulders. The three friends loped through the bare-shelved Game Shop and out the door to the familiar jingle of the bell.

* * *

"The day's half done! Wake up, Mophead!"

Mokuba glared at the rattling doorknob. Blocking a yawn, he dragged across the floor and yanked open the door.

Impeccably dressed as usual, Otogi grinned at him. "I knew that would get you out of bed."

"Like _your_ hair is so conservatively cut," grumbled Mokuba, trailing down the stairs after his brother's boyfriend.

"Ah, but mine is a carefully chosen and maintained style—yours is an absence of style." Without turning around, Otogi raised a monitory finger. "Don't make that face at me unless you want to cook your own breakfast."

Suddenly, the morning seemed brighter. Mokuba bounced down the last few steps and came up alongside Otogi as the elder turned off into the kitchen.

"So how is life as a house-husband?" he asked.

A balled-up dishtowel whizzed toward his head. He ducked.

"Watch it, kid. Remember, I'm around here much more often than your brother is."

"I want to know!" Mokuba protested. He watched Otogi tilt a spoonful of batter over the waiting waffle iron. A satisfying sizzle, with matching scent, soon overlaid the mumbled complaints of the espresso machine.

Otogi thumped a tumblerful of orange juice in front of Mokuba, then settled on the arm of his chair. "Drink," he ordered. Mokuba complied.

"It's not so bad," Otogi said after a moment. "I miss the old neighborhood sometimes, and with the PR and wining and dining I've been doing for KC it's been all too easy to avoid working on my master's thesis. But! I've enjoyed getting accustomed to this lifestyle. And," he leaned to whisper in Mokuba's ear, "your brother makes sweet love to me."

"Eew!" yelped Mokuba. "I did _not_ need to know that!"

Otogi got up to check on the waffle iron. "Don't tell me you're a prude, not after all that time hanging out with your boarding-school friends. I know what goes on at those places." A golden, toasted disc slid onto a plate; Otogi tipped fresh cream over it and added sliced strawberries. Mokuba said nothing.

"Of course—how could I expect someone who grew up with Seto to be straightforward about sex?" Otogi continued, presenting the plate to Mokuba with a flourish. "He is worried about you, though. Hopes you'll find yourself a nice girl and settle down."

Mokuba snorted. "He never said that."

"True. All he says is, 'I hope things are easier for Mokuba.' But he did ask me once if you ever let slip anything about any women you were dating."

"Didn't have time to date."

"Riiight."

Mokuba swallowed a fluffy bite, then fixed Otogi with a beady eye. "I didn't find anyone who interested me, okay? So the two of you can back off."

Otogi responded with an unblinking green stare.

"Maybe I'll meet someone 'suitable' by your lights at one of these shindigs you're cooking up," Mokuba offered. "What is next on the KC social calendar, anyway?"

Otogi accepted the diversion. "Oh—there's a little get-together on July 7. Some brat's birthday—oh yeah, my boyfriend's kid brother." He dodged the much-abused dishtowel hurled his way by an outraged Mokuba. "Seto insisted we rent the whole of 'BigWeb' downtown—he remembers how much you loved the one back where you grew up."

Mokuba paused with a forkful of waffle halfway to his mouth. "But I hardly know anyone in Domino! Who's going to come?"

Otogi slid a mug of espresso over to him. His laugh was as dark as the brew. "Don't worry, Seto knows enough people for the both of you."

-end chapter two-

Note: Just for kicks, I've made Dinosaur Ryuuzaki a couple of years younger than he is canonically (he's supposed to be only a year or so behind Yuugi-tachi).

Note #2: Another thing about the names—yep, mostly they're going around calling each other by their surnames; again, it's because it's what I'm used to hearing on my Yu-Gi-Oh! DVDs. Think of it as a dialectal quirk of the community. ::sweatdrops::

Response to reviewers:

To After'blade: Thanks, dear! ::hugs::

To Tekli: Your review perked me up at a low point! As you'll see, your character guesses are pretty much right on. What are your favorite Bard plays? I was contemplating a JouKai version of _Much Ado_ at one time, but it all came to...er...nothing.


	3. Two Hours' Traffic Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: His/theirs. Not mine. (See chapter one for extended prefatory notes.)

Disclaimer: His/theirs. Not mine. (See chapter one for extended prefatory notes.)

  
**Two Hours' Traffic**

_Chapter Three  
_  
"Swing by the diner?"

"If they still have that cheesecake, sure!"

They walked three abreast down the sidewalk.

"So you've got that social work job, Yuug; Honda's doing construction work; and what's Anzu up to? Still at Burger World?"

"She took orders."

"I know she did. Hey, we ate there often enough, not that she always looked delighted to see us."

Honda smacked the palm of his hand against his forehead. Yuugi looked at once upset and amused. It was he who answered, "No—she _took orders_—joined a sisterhood that's active with the poor."

Jounouchi stopped dead, and had to work his jaw a few times before it could close again. He coughed, then said, "A nun."

"Yup." Yuugi was staring straight ahead.

"Why? Was it-"

"Ask her that." All humor was gone from Yuugi's voice. Too brightly, he added, "I need to stop by work for a while. I'll catch up with you at the diner."

"Yuug?"

"It's okay." A flash of Yuugi's old smile returned. "Say—thanks for not blowing my cover with Grandpa."

"Was it—that Kaiba guy?"

Yuugi hefted his satchel. "He was too angry to know what he was doing. I tried to step between him and Dinosaur and he just swung at me with his briefcase—it glanced off me, nothing time won't cure." He added confidentially, "_Much_ better than living with a paranoid grandfather." With a wink like Anzu's, he was off, weaving his way through the noonday shoppers.

"C'mon, let's get moving. ...Pity about Anzu and Yuugi."

"She never noticed?"

"He never told her."

"Damn." They walked on in silence for a while, Jounouchi kicking a pebble ahead of him.

Suddenly, Honda's boot descended on the pebble. Jounouchi looked up to meet Honda's frowning gaze.

"Don't tell me Mai's wiped all the liveliness out of you. You've been so," he waved a hand in frustration, "_mute_ since you came back. Never thought I'd miss that braying laugh of yours. So spill it."

"What?"

"What's flattened you out? Where's your pep, your verve, your drive? Your 'bring it on' chutzpah?"

"She broke my heart. What—you expect me to feel overjoyed?"

"I expect you to bounce back the way you always have. Other fish in the sea, other birds in the tree. You knew it was a one-way thing from the start, you told me as much. That's what comes of chasing someone older-"

"Can it already. It was worth it to me to at least make the effort."

"Yes, but for four years?"

"You sound like you've got some problem with that. Why don't _you_ spit it out?" They had reached the diner. Honda breathed deep, leaned back against the aluminum siding.

"Yes, I do. There's been a lot going down here, and it would have been a help to have you at home, not off chasing some woman who barely knew you existed."

"It wasn't-" began Jounouchi, then clamped his mouth shut. Suddenly, he threw his arms around Honda. "I'm sorry, man," he muttered into a denim- clad shoulder.

"You should be. You're not the only one whose heart's been broken, y'know."

Jounouchi's eyes popped open. He drew back a little, eyed the other. "We'd never have worked out."

"You goof! It wasn't you I meant. –And that's all I'm going to say about it," Honda added hastily as Jounouchi opened his mouth.

"Are you two going to loiter there indefinitely, or are you paying customers?"

They looked up. Bakura was grinning at them from the window above. He gave them a wave, then disappeared.

"Yeah, Honda, stop scaring off the clientele."

"Hey!"

The pair shouldered their way into the bustle of customers and found themselves a booth.

"So what'll it be...gentlemen?"

Ryou Bakura materialized beside them. He'd grown pleasantly rounded since Jounouchi had last seen him, his face more than ever like the full moon.

"Lookin' good, Bakura." Jounouchi gave the young man a teasing poke; Bakura squeaked, blushed, smiled.

"I enjoy this work."

"More than that programming job you got after high school? I thought you loved working there."

Bakura hesitated. "Different. But this—it pulls me out of myself, keeps me focused on what's going on around me."

"You forgot to mention that the software company folded."

"Still unhappy about that?" Bakura said, sympathetic brown eyes on Honda. "I was, too, for a long time...but in some ways I'm happier at the diner."

"So long as a McKaiba franchise doesn't open up down the road from you."

"Our customers are loyal-"

"That's what Sugoroku thought."

Jounouchi waved his arms to get their attention. "If you plan to keep at this, I'll need brain food. A stack of pancakes, rashers and eggs on the side, and a large coffee, Baks. Home fries too. And cheesecake afterwards."

"Appetite as tiny as ever," murmured Honda.

As Jounouchi tackled the brunet, Bakura coughed delicately. "So I shouldn't bring you the usual, Honda? No SuperDeluxe Special?"

* * *

If he squinted at them, the scraps of sky between the maple leaves turned into moving daytime constellations. Mokuba blinked rapidly, then let his eyelids drift shut.

Like so many of his brother's gestures, the building of this treehouse had been unexpected, extravagant and strangely touching. Never mind that Mokuba had already been fourteen when they moved here; never mind that he'd only had one summer to "play" in it before going off to boarding school. Seto Kaiba was determined that his younger brother would have a Proper Childhood, even if it wound up being delivered to him piecemeal and stealthily. Much of Seto's own salary that year had gone into the hand-tooled construction of the treehouse, and, with the staff's sympathies firmly on the side of the brothers, Gozaburo had remained none the wiser about the new feature added to the fringes of his estate.

It still surprised Mokuba how much of a refuge it had become to him since that time. Seto was generally at KC from dawn till well past dusk, and Mokuba had come to dread the silence that poured down the halls of the mansion to greet him every morning.

This treehouse was just the right size for one person. Or two.

Mokuba blushed without knowing why. A cooling breeze slid over the platform where he lay.

After a few heartbeats he sat up and pulled over his laptop, shaking his head over Seto's propensity to saturate every square inch of his property with connectivity. (Wireless access and an intercom were the latest additions to the treehouse, which had always boasted electrical outlets).

A few emails had come in since he last checked. One message from his classmate Nakatsu, asking about his fall plans. "If I knew, I'd tell you," he told the screen, and clicked on the next email—this one from Otogi had sent a series of links that turned out to be his idea of Mokuba's proper outfit for the birthday celebration: dark slacks, a midnight-blue blazer, silk shirt, dress shoes, and staggering price tag. "Bill them to Seto, of course!" he wrote blithely.

_Ick_.

Mokuba shoved the computer away—he had the feeling he'd overeaten.

"Some days, I wish I could abduct Seto and Otogi and just—move," he said softly. _But no matter where Seto is, he'll never be content. He can never just _be_. Otogi's fine with that, I guess. But I—_

Turning back to the keyboard, he opened the next email; the KC virtual design department was offering him an internship. He closed the window immediately. The two subsequent messages appeared to be from colleges. He let his cursor hover over the "Delete All" button for a while before opting simply to exit from the program.

He closed his eyes, reached to his left, pulled his guitar to him.

-end chapter three-Thanks to Hush Puppie for beta-ing, and to reviewers LadySaturnGirl, rayemars, [samurai-]ashes, and Tuulikki for your reactions to the story! I'm honored to be read by y'all, let alone reviewed. : - )

BTW, LadySaturnGirl: there are several good fics pairing Seto and Otogi, though they don't always turn out happily for the relationship...e.g. Cairnsy's "Fairytale," "That's Why They Call Them the Blues" by Scylla the Healer, and others I can't track down at the moment. I've seen at least one sample of SxR fanart too.


	4. Two Hours' Traffic Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Neither I, nor my heirs, nor theirs, can ever lay claim to Yu-Gi-Oh! (See chapter one for extended prefatory notes.)

Disclaimer: Neither I, nor my heirs, nor theirs, can ever lay claim to Yu-Gi-Oh! (See chapter one for extended prefatory notes.)

* * *

**Two Hours' Traffic**

**   
_Chapter Four_   
**

It was approaching suppertime. Conveniently for them, the four friends were still ensconced in the diner. Bakura, shift over, was fiddling with the table jukebox while his indulgent manager Mrs. Ichinose bawled advice from behind the counter. Yuugi was nursing a cup of tea and giggling over Jounouchi's dramatic representation of the Engineering Professor from Hell; Honda was scanning the classifieds for an apartment for the "prodigal son."

As Jounouchi paused for breath and a long swallow from his soda, he became aware of a small clicking sound coming from the booth behind him.

Click. Pause. Clickclick. A longer pause. Then an agitated-sounding series: clickCLICKclickclickclick.

When a suppressed curse reached his ears, he had to turn and peer over the naugahyde barrier.

The customer seated opposite him could have passed for a Secret Service agent with his severe business suit, forbidding shades and intimidating physique. The effect was spoiled, however, by the man's defeated-looking posture: teeth gritted, hands clutching at his hair as he stared down at an odd heap of glasslike rectangles in front of him.

"Hey. Need help?" Jounouchi found himself asking.

The man's head jerked up. "Oh—no thanks—"

Suddenly he paused, seemed to focus on the group in the neighboring booth. "Actually—any of you good at puzzles?"

As one, Honda, Bakura and Jounouchi looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"Guess that's a no." The man sounded nettled; he rose and made as if to gather the objects in front of him.

"Wait! Yuugi here is good. I mean, expert. Really." Jounouchi propelled a surprised Yuugi out of the booth and over to the next table.

Soon, they were all clustered around Yuugi as he fanned the six cards out on the formica. For a moment, he simply looked at them, chin propped on hand. Then, with small precise movements, he lifted each to examine it closely: front, back, and edges. Finally, he began to stack them.

As Yuugi laid the last rectangle on the others, the man stirred. "I did try putting them in that order," he observed with a kind of pessimistic relish. "All it shows is the time of the event."

Yuugi smiled at him. "Yes, it's not very straightforward. But if you take a look at the edges..." He tilted the stack so the man could see the side; the others craned to look.

"'Big Web,' see? And when you turn the top three cards around and upside down..." Yuugi rotated the stack. "'Wednesday, July 7,' and another quarter turn gives you 'Birthday Gala.'"

Jounouchi stole a look at the stranger—the man's mouth was working soundlessly as he stared at Yuugi's moving fingers.

Yuugi continued, "I think if you then drop them back in their holder like this—making sure that the marks here line up-"

They all jumped as a beam of light flashed from the stack of cards. Yuugi quickly withdrew his hands.

Four lines of glowing letters appeared on the top of the "deck" of rectangles.

_The Kaiba Family_

_Requests the Honor _

_of Your Presence. _

_Be There._

"Well. I'll be damned." The man shook his head. He turned to look at Yuugi. "No idea how you were able to figure it out—but you're good, kid!"

Yuugi shifted in his seat and gave him half a smile.

"Say-could you take it apart again and put it back together, slowly? I need to get this right."

Yuugi's smile broadened and he bent over the cards with the man, going step by step through the puzzle. The other three stared mutely at each other. Eventually Jounouchi mouthed "_Kaiba Family?"_ Bakura gave a slight shake of the head; Honda's brows drew together.

"You're a lifesaver!" the man said eventually, sitting back with the assembled stack in his hand. "My boss seems to think if he runs through something just once with you, you'll be able to duplicate the same thing without explanation or practice. That may work for him, but-"

"You must have boxes of these to deliver?" asked Yuugi.

"No, this is the only one. What I have to do now is visit every single household on the guest list, and put it together in front of them. 'Face-to-face contact works well, but face-to-face contact with special effects works best'—that's the PR department's motto."

"Well, with an invitation like this one, who would refuse?" Bakura laughed.

The man swept a glance around the table as he got to his feet. "Know what? You all look like good kids to me. If the four of you are free that night, come join the fun. Just tell Kino—he'll be at the door—that Kei said you could. Here—" he took a notepad out of his pocket, jotted something down, and handed the slip of paper to Yuugi. The rainbow-headed young man looked stunned; Jounouchi wasn't far from it himself.

"Just keep out of the way of the bigshots. There should be plenty of food, and unlimited free tokens for the arcade games; you can play as long as you like."

Jounouchi watched unadulterated joy dawn in Yuugi's eyes as the latter stammered thanks.

_Maybe you haven't changed so much after all, Yuug. Thank God! _

Kei clapped Yuugi on the shoulder, plunked down payment for his coffee and strode off.

"Whoa," Bakura said softly. Honda was staring at the paper in Yuugi's hands as though it were an explosive device; Yuugi's face still glowed as he gazed after Kei.

Jounouchi cleared his throat. "So. Er."

"It's perfect!" Yuugi swung to face him.

"Eh?"

"This is the chance we've been waiting for!"

"To crash a party?" Bakura sounded bemused.

"No! To connect with Kaiba's circle as people. To see if they're reachable. And-" unexpectedly Yuugi reached out, laid a hand on Jounouchi's chest— "to bring _your_ mind and heart back home. This is exactly the sort of situation you used to drag me into. Now it's our turn to pull _you_ back into a bit of harmless mischief."

"Yuugi?"

"You know...Yuugi's right." Honda's eyes remained serious, but one side of his mouth quirked. "Domino's best and brightest, or at least Domino's most sexily dressed, will be there in droves—something tells me Jounouchi's Temple of Mai will collapse before that evening is through."

Jounouchi grabbed him by the collar and shook. "Whaddaya think I am—a windsock?"

Prying the other's hands off, Honda wheezed, "Don't think it; know it."

Mrs. Ichinose's voice boomed over Jounouchi's outraged roar. "Stop the brawlin'! You boys going to have dinner or not?"

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Apologies for the brevity of the chapter! And thanks as always to Hush Puppie for betaing.

Yes, these are locator cards, based on the Battle City ones. Since DuelMonsters don't really appear in this fic, I had to figure out a different way for them to work than the DuelDisk. (The other inspiration is a sculpture I once saw at an art glass exhibit in Pittsburgh, composed of a stack of thin sheets of glass-spots of color on each layer were juxtaposed to create the illusion, if you looked at the stack edge-on, of objects caught in the glass. Darned cool.)

Only in my recent _Romeo and Juliet_ rereadings have I noticed the way Romeo et al. get wind of the party—through literate Romeo's helping an unlettered Capulet servant figure out the guest list. With my librarianly interest in different kinds of literacy, I just had to figure out some way to transpose that situation into this fic. My apologies if it feels contrived! ::sweatdrop, sweatdrop::

Inspired by LeDiz, I too have borrowed a character from _Maison Ikkoku_—Mrs. Ichinose in this case. She doesn't really run a diner, but I bet she'd love to. (Think of the opportunities for gossip!)

Thanks to Tuulikki, LadySaturnGirl, and otherwise-nameless Reviewer for your comments and encouragement! Glad to have cheered you, Tuulikki.

Anzu's combination of practicality and idealism echoes qualities I've admired in folks from the Catholic body of faith—there are some brave, self-giving, visionary people out there. (Says the Quaker who wrote her BA thesis about liberation theology...)


	5. Two Hours' Traffic Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh not mine.

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh not mine.

* * *

**Two Hours' Traffic**

**   
_Chapter Five_   
**

Jounouchi shifted on his feet, cast a glance at his watch. 7:33 PM. Through the open doorway of Honda's tiny efficiency came the sounds of drawers screeching open and slamming shut.

"Yuugi said 7:45!" he yelled.

"I _know_." Honda came through the doorway, buttoning his cuffs. Jounouchi stared.

His friend looked up and snapped, "What?"

"You look good," Jounouchi blurted.

Honda's face relaxed just a little as he punched Jounouchi's shoulder. "Thanks for sounding surprised, chump." He cast appraising eyes over the other. "Guess you'll do, too. Glad to see you own at least one pair of shoes that isn't sneakers."

"I swear, you're like the big brother I never had, and I don't mean that in a good way." They clattered down the stairwell and out onto the dusky street as Jounouchi continued to fume. "How do you think I dressed for my internship interviews? In a T-shirt and jeans?"

"Wouldn't put it past you." Honda reached under Jounouchi's jacket to pull out his shirt collar. "I'm sorry, that hair of yours just doesn't spell 'professional.'" His hand rose to give said hair a thorough tousle. "Then again, it makes you look damned cute. Watch—the girls and boys will be crawling all over you."

With a dirty look, Jounouchi fished a comb out of his pocket. "Now who's giving who backhanded compliments? And for the last time, no matchmaking—my heart's had enough abuse for at least a century. I'm single and going to stay that way."

"You mean you're still hoping Mai will change her mind."

"Drop it, Honda. You used to give a man some space—what's gotten into you?"

"Picked up a bad habit, I guess," said Honda after a pause.

They rounded the corner. The Kame Game Shop's window shone yellow; in front of it waited a short, spiky-haired silhouette. Yuugi bounded forward to meet them.

"Saved!" he said in a low voice, then called over his shoulder, "Sorry, Gramps, we're just going out! Bakura, you coming?"

Bakura emerged from the doorway, waving to the room's occupants.

The foursome traced their steps to the lot behind the Shop where Jounouchi had left his Toyota. "Grandpa's playing bridge with his old union buddies," Yuugi explained after another explosion of laughter from inside the house.

"You left the house in the middle of a card game? You feeling well?" Jounouchi laid a solicitous palm on Yuugi's forehead.

"It's a whole different game when that crowd plays it, believe me!" Yuugi shook his head vigorously, dislodging Jounouchi's hand. "And besides, we've got plans."

Jounouchi flicked on the ceiling light as they settled themselves. Bakura looked tidy in a soft gray blazer and dark slacks; Honda was resplendent in a maple-red leather jacket; and Yuugi was wearing—

Memory sliced through Jounouchi. It was like a smaller version of Atemu was sitting beside him: sleek black, glinting buckles.

"Yuug," he croaked.

Yuugi understood perfectly; he glowed up at Jounouchi. "You know he'd have loved this."

* * *

They parked next to the square and crossed the plaza toward Big Web, coming to a standstill a few yards away. Light spilled from the big picture windows onto the sidewalk.

"All right," said Yuugi. He lifted a fist, glared fiercely at his comrades. "Let's get in there—and mingle!"

Even as they all snickered, something made Jounouchi shiver.

He watched Honda and Yuugi move forward. Bakura looked at him inquiringly in passing; he just shook his head. Yuugi was making a soft-voiced explanation to the imposing man at the door.

With a deep breath, Jounouchi went after the others.

The noise of the hall smacked into him; he ducked his head instinctively. _This must be the reason I'm queasy—Memory City._ So many evenings, he'd driven Mai up to doors like these—a party, a reception, an art opening, a game; sat motionless while she dropped a kiss on his cheek (one of those meaningless kisses that meant everything to him); watched her turn, raise a hand, flash that dark-eyed ironic smile. He was never sure which of them she was laughing at—him or herself. Maybe both.

He swallowed hard and looked around.

_Where the hell did they go?_

* * *

Mokuba's eyes kept straying to the entrance. It was like a game—he'd sneak peeks, check whether there was an open pathway to the outdoors. Five points to him if there was, negative five if there were at least three people between him and the door, negative ten if Otogi caught him looking.

His current score was negative twenty-five.

Mokuba straightened his neck and smiled widely at the mayor's wife, who'd flicked a perfunctory glance at him while talking full spate to Seto. "It's _so_ good to have fresh blood in our circles—my husband was just saying—"

Mokuba's eyes began to drift again.

Beside him, Otogi sucked in his breath sharply.

Mokuba hastily assumed an apologetic expression, then realized Otogi wasn't looking his way at all. In fact, he was giving Seto a peck on the cheek and excusing himself from the conversation. "Sorry to interrupt, hon, I just remembered something I need to tell the caterers. Catch you later, Mrs. Kanekura."

He blew the mayor's wife a kiss, then disappeared into the crowd before Mokuba could think to tag along.

"—boyfriend of yours is a dream, isn't he?" Mrs. Kanekura was sighing.

"Yes," Seto said simply. "But you were saying?"

"Oh! Yes. Something needs to be done about these delinquents. We can't have businesses scared away by flagrant acts of vandalism. My husband says that old gadfly what's-his-name-Mutou's stirring up malcontents—"

Mokuba lost the thread of the conversation again. He was mesmerized by the work of art that was Mrs. Kanekura: perfectly painted lips, oval nails tapping her wineglass, the dancing glint of diamonds on ears and throat. Like everyone here, polished, well-oiled, mechanical.

Yes, this whole machine was running nicely, to judge from the hum of the partygoers.

_What does that make Seto—the operator of the equipment, or just a superior axle or piston? _Mokuba stared at the lean, elegant form bending slightly to listen to Mrs. Kanekura.

Suddenly Seto slanted a glance his way. A smile softened the hard lines of his mouth.

Mokuba smiled back, though shame twisted inside him. _How could I think of Seto like that?_

Maybe it was safer to go back to his game. He pretended to pick a bit of lint off his sleeve, slid his gaze toward the door. A cluster of young women, chattering among themselves as they moved toward the Dance Dance Revolution machine, blocked his view of freedom. He closed his eyes—_like wishing on birthday candles_—and counted to ten.

Eyes still shut, Mokuba felt a finger of night breeze touch his hair. _Door's open—Kino must be sneaking a cigarette._ Slowly, he opened them, lifted his gaze.

Somehow the lobby had cleared, crowds ebbing away to either side. The colored chasing lights strung from the ceiling made skittering rainbows on the tiled floor.

And someone was standing by the door.

Without conscious thought, Mokuba turned his head to get a better look.

This was no Calvin Klein model, no up-and-coming socialite; the young man's clothes, while decent, lacked sophistication and sat a little uneasily on him. Long blond bangs shadowed his face as he leant against the wall. He was tall, leggy, maybe Seto's age.

_Look up, look up,_ Mokuba begged—then wondered at himself.

The stranger looked up.

-end chapter five-

* * *

Thankies to samurai-ashes, Tuulikki and LadySaturnGirl for reviewing! Yup, Tuulikki—"such an idiot for a genius" does kinda sum Kaiba up sometimes. ::sweatdrop:: As for Anzu, Ashes—I think she'll be a credit to the church, when she isn't being a pain in the hierarchy's neck. LadySaturnGirl...I'm afraid there may be rocky waters ahead for Seto and Ryuuji. But on the bright side, Ninetails has just written an entertaining (though brief) S/R fic, "The Kaiba Effect."


	6. Two Hours' Traffic Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Not a speck, nay, not a jot belongs to me.

Disclaimer: Not a speck, nay, not a jot belongs to me.

**Two Hours' Traffic**

_   
**Chapter Six**   
_

The stranger looked up.

Mokuba's world stilled.

Even from this distance, he felt drawn into the young man's eyes. He'd never seen anyone so unguarded—annoyance, confusion, dawning interest chasing each other across that open face.

He could not look away.

_Beautiful._

Mokuba smiled.

The young man's eyes widened, his lips parted—

And someone touched Mokuba's arm.

Mokuba came back to his immediate surroundings with a jolt, air rushing into his lungs. _Was I holding my breath?_

It was Mrs. Kanekura who had tapped his elbow. Now she was blinking at him coyly while Seto conferred with a staffer.

"Your brother's told me of your talent. My nephew's graphics firm could use your skills, I'm sure. What would you say to a little informal meeting between the two of you?"

For a long moment he just stared at her, unable to form a reply. Seto's voice re-entered the conversation, deep and smooth.

"Just email me your nephew's contact information, Mrs. Kanekura. Mokuba will be in touch. But let's not discuss business on his birthday. Besides—I have an errand for you, Mokuba."

"On his birthday?" riposted Mrs. Kanekura.

"I'm afraid so. But it's a private matter."

Mrs. Kanekura fluttered off; Mokuba quirked an eyebrow at Seto. "Private?"

"Yes." Seto bent down to Mokuba's ear and muttered, "Go have fun. Now."

* * *

After a fruitless glance around the room, Jounouchi scowled down at the toes of his Honda-approved shoes. _Mingle, huh. _

An exasperated chuckle bubbled up inside. He straightened his shoulders, raised his head. And found himself staring at a boy whose eyes were fixed squarely on him.

Slight, golden-skinned; a mass of dark hair pulled back from a vivid, almost stern face.

_Do I know him? No. That face I wouldn't forget. ...Maybe he's trying to figure out what the weird intruder is doing propping up a wall. _

The boy smiled.

Jounouchi's heart contracted. It was a smile like Yuugi's had been years ago; bright, alive, inviting.

No. It wasn't Yuugi's shy twinkle. This boy's smile didn't just invite—it summoned.

_Me?_

Blood rushed to Jounouchi's face... as the boy turned away to speak with the elegantly dressed woman standing with him.

_Idiot! Calm down, heart. Nothing happened—just my overactive imagination. _Jounouchi pushed away from the wall and made for one of the side aisles. _I'd better find a game to play before my mind plays another game with me._

* * *

Mokuba walked purposefully towards the back of the Big Web "midway," deflecting the approach of a few acquaintances with a grin and wave. Beyond a sliding partition wall at the rear of the huge room was the dining and dancing area. Nobody was supposed to be there as yet except for the caterers and, he hoped, Otogi. He wasn't sure why he wanted to find Otogi. Maybe it was the feeling that something had changed, something big, and Otogi was the most ... comfortable ... person in his life.

He came to a halt beside one of the potted palms that lined the back room, looked around. Over to the left, he spied the familiar ponytailed form, facing away from him.

His greeting died on his lips. Someone else was standing a few yards from Otogi, addressing him in a rough-edged voice. Mokuba strained to hear.

"Been a while, hasn't it."

Otogi slowly turned toward the speaker. "I don't recall your name being on the guest list." Mokuba had never seen Otogi look so drawn. He shrank back behind the palm.

The stranger—a dark-haired man, broad-shouldered—laughed without humor. "I _was_ invited, though. Yuugi helped one of your boyfriend's workers figure out how to work that invitation gadget. Apparently _Mr_. Kaiba didn't think it important to make sure the man understood. And it seems the fellow was just too scared to ask him for help. Anyway, he was pathetically grateful, and invited the lot of us to come."

"Honda. Why are you doing this? It's been two years." Otogi's tone lacked its usual lightness.

"Two and a half. Yes. Time to move on. For me, that is—it's all water under the bridge for you."

Mokuba saw Otogi flinch. The other man continued, "Came across this among my things the other day; thought it was time to give it back." He grasped something in his pocket, pulled it out, opened his hand.

"That was for you to keep," Otogi said in a thread of a voice.

"Some things are too painful to hold onto, Ryuuji."

At that, something appeared to snap in Otogi. He took several quick steps toward the other. "_You_ left _me_!" he hissed.

"No, _you_ bailed on _us_. After you ditched your coworkers, I knew it was only a matter of time before you'd need to get rid of your lower-class lover; all I did was save you the troub-"

"Stop!" came Otogi's muffled voice. The two stood silent for a moment. Otogi's chest rose and fell as though he'd run a race.

"I didn't want to lose you. I never did." Otogi said at last. "Believe what you want, though. Whatever makes you feel like the wronged party. Just remember that while you were off sunning yourself—excuse me, fishing for salmon with Kajiki—I was dealing with my dad's episodes. He had to go into round-the-clock care. Not exactly cheap."

Honda started to speak; Otogi cut him off. "You could say I lost three loves that summer. Dad went into a tailspin, never really came back to himself. My business shipwrecked. And my boyfriend decided I was some loathsome backstabber—"

"I love you."

Otogi froze in mid-gesture.

Honda hunched his shoulders. "I know it's too late, I know you've got your beautiful new life, maybe some reasonable part of me is even glad for you."

"Hiroto—"

"But I had to say it before I let you go for good." Honda opened his hand, let what he was holding—a pendant on a leather cord—slip onto the table, and took a step back. Then suddenly he surged forward, threw an arm around Otogi's neck, and kissed him hard.

Mokuba didn't stay to see more—he whirled and fled.

Ducking into the restroom corridor, he took time to catch his breath. _Otogi—comfortable? He's a walking soap opera. _He couldn't decide whether he felt betrayed or guilty for not knowing his brother's boyfriend better, for never asking what Otogi's life had been like before they met.

A tray-table laden with glasses of red wine caught his eye. He helped himself to a cup. Tipping back his head, he hesitated, then let the sour liquid slide down his tongue, the aroma burn against the roof of his mouth. Seto would not be pleased to see him drinking, but Seto was otherwise occupied.

Slowly, he emerged into the midway again. He turned right and sauntered deliberately toward the half-doors in the rear corner. If anything could distract him from this yawning sense of instability, it was a round of pool.

* * *

Thanks to m'dear HushPuppie for beta-ing! Sorry for the delay, all. This originally formed the first half of a much longer chapter, which has now been broken down for easier digestibility. The next installment should appear shortly!

**Useless Trivia Department:** Honda's sally into salmon fisheries was inspired by "June Is A-Comin,'" a beautifully wistful song by Dana Lyons: "June is a-comin,' the salmon are runnin'/and I've got to be on my way..."

Hugs to Tuulikki and Ashes for reviewing the last chapter!


	7. Two Hours' Traffic Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I may hug it and kiss it and want to marry it, but at the end of the day Yu-Gi-Oh! does not belong to me.

Disclaimer: I may hug it and kiss it and want to marry it, but at the end of the day Yu-Gi-Oh! does not belong to me.

**Two Hours' Traffic**

_   
**Chapter Seven**   
_

_**Romeo:** Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purg'd. _(Kissing her)

_**Juliet:** Then have my lips the sin that they have took._

_**Romeo:** Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg'd!_

_Give me my sin again._ (Kissing her again)

_**Juliet:** You kiss by th'book._

-William Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_, Act I, Scene 5

* * *

Jounouchi bounced a cue in his hands. He'd found the deserted poolroom tucked back in the corner of BigWeb; none of the other partygoers apparently recalled its existence.

"Suits me fine," he muttered. After a moment, he shook his head, went to rack up for nine-ball. _Nah. I'm too much of a people person. Not that I want a crowd in here—but I wish I hadn't lost track of the others... Well, a bit of practice'll improve my stroke for later. Don't want Honda to figure out I haven't played since I left Domino!_

Yuugi and Bakura both favored straight pool. Honda and Jounouchi preferred the speed of nine-ball—but Jounouchi had never been a match for Honda or even the surprisingly deft Sugoroku. _Time I changed that._

_CRACK. _The colored spheres fanned out across the table. Jounouchi chewed his lip. _Bank shot on the 1-ball? _Cue looped through fingers, he aimed. _Yellow like Yuugi's hair. If I get it in the pocket, that's good luck for Yuugi._

He had calculated the angles perfectly: the ball clunked satisfyingly into a side pocket. He couldn't help grinning. "Hey, all that math and physics was worth something after all!"

_Okay, what to pocket next? Where's the 2-ball—oh. _His choice was obvious—in hitting the navy-blue ball, he'd have an excellent shot at the vibrant purple 4-ball.

Jounouchi swallowed, leaned over his stretched arm, cradled the cue-tip between his thumb and forefinger. _Good luck, Mai._

Obligingly, the cue ball knocked into the 2-ball, which spun off towards the 4. The violet ball rolled in a leisurely way toward the corner and dropped in.

Jounouchi stared at the rim of the pocket for a while, then shook himself and scanned the table for the 3-ball. _Honda, you next._

* * *

"Damn!" Though he'd safely pocketed the 2-ball ("Bakura") and the 8-ball ("Sugoroku") several strokes ago, he had once again missed the 3-ball—and on this shot he'd scratched as well.

Sighing, he went over to scoop out the cue ball and plunk it back on the table. _Third time lucky._ Breathing deep, he swung his arm back, then shot the stick forward; this time the 3 careened off one railing, sped toward a pocket and dropped at last.

_Oh, great._ Jounouchi had never excelled at setting up future shots. The 5-ball gleamed orange and inaccessible: the higher numbers seemed to be arrayed protectively against the cue ball.

He'd always liked orange, identified with its bright brashness. _Gotta sink this one. Gotta move past—move forward. _

He moved around the end of the table, but none of the angles seemed workable. Fatalistically, he lined up a shot anyway. _There goes _my_ future._

Behind him, someone coughed. "May I try?"

* * *

Mokuba paused outside the swinging doors, eyes on the long-limbed form stretching across the pooltable. His stranger. An unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his stomach.

As soundlessly as possible, he opened the gate and slipped inside. The other didn't turn—he seemed utterly absorbed in his solo game.

Mokuba stared at wild gold hair, at shoulderblades moving beneath a dark green jacket, as the young man shot the cue forward.

"Damn!"

Mokuba flicked his eyes to the table—the stranger had scratched. He stood still as a post, watching the blond position the cue ball and aim for the 3. _He's taking this so seriously._

With a clunk, the 3 knocked into a pocket. Mokuba grimaced at the 5-ball's position. _What'll he do? _

His stranger moved tentatively from one point to another for several long moments, then stood still before bending to take aim—at precisely the wrong angle.

Through hot dry lips, Mokuba found himself speaking. "May I try?"

* * *

Jounouchi nearly dropped the cue. It was the boy from before.

He gaped for a moment, then looked away, holding out the cue. "Sure thing." _Am I blushing? Damn._

He glanced out of the corner of his eye—the boy was looking stern again, surveying the table. Presently he leant forward, slung the cue across his knuckles, and swung his arm in one smooth stroke. The white ball bounced from the opposite railing, ricocheted off the back rail, came hurtling towards the cluster of balls.

Ka-THUNK. The 5-ball slid neatly into one pocket, the 7 ball into another.

Jounouchi gazed in wonder at the table.

"Sorry." Looking embarrassed, the boy held the stick out to him. "I can't resist a challenge like that."

"No problem." Automatically, Jounouchi reached his hand to accept the cue; his fingers grazed the other's. They both jumped; the stick slipped out of the boy's grasp and clattered on the floor.

"Sorr-" they both started. Their eyes met. Neither of them bent to retrieve the fallen stick.

"It's my birthday," the boy said suddenly.

"Congratulations," Jounouchi heard himself answer. He was caught in a deep-blue gaze. Something tickled his memory—_birthday?_—but the thought seemed remote, unimportant. What was important was the hand lifting to his face, his own hand reaching up to cover it. And then time jumped, his heart jumped with it, and the boy's lips were on his.

It was nothing like the fumbled "practice" kisses he'd exchanged with Honda back in high school. Nothing like the few times Mai had let him kiss her deeply. Nothing like any other kiss in the span of his lifetime. He thought these things, he thought _Jailbait? _with a twinge of worry, and then he ceased to think. All his world was contained in the supple form pressed against him, in the mouth tasting of wine the boy was surely too young to be drinking, in soft rain-smelling hair.

* * *

Furtive kisses between school library stacks, lingering kisses on dorm room beds, public kisses to annoy teachers. Awkward kisses goodbye, expert ones to get you hot and bothered. Yes, Mokuba had had his share of kisses.

When he set about kissing his stranger, he was hoping for "lingering with a side of hot."

He wasn't planning on a life-changing kiss.

Tentatively, their lips met, exploring. Slight stubble grazed against Mokuba's upper lip, textured the jaw under his palm. Silence settled around them; the giddy desperation he'd been feeling since the scene in the dining room fell away.

His tongue nudged between the other's lips. The stranger obliged, opening them with a sigh. Fingers curled around Mokuba's hand.

_I know what this is, this feeling. Nobody's asking me for anything but what I want to give. He didn't ask me to kiss him, but I—I want to give him—myself._

He leaned in, deepening—and their teeth bumped. Mokuba felt the stranger's mouth lift into a smile.

Mokuba jerked away, breaking the kiss, his face on fire. _What was I thinking? Throwing myself at him-such an idiot! _"I—I—sorry," he stumbled. One hand found its way to the back of his neck. _Can I look any more stupid? Should I run for it?_

A voice invaded his agony of embarrassment, a warm voice, steady and solid as oak. "You know," it said, "I can't resist a challenge like that. ...May I try?"

Slowly, Mokuba raised his eyes to the stranger's. The other's face was—alight it seemed to Mokuba, at once smiling and rueful and daring.

Mokuba stepped forward in wordless reply. His arms wrapped around the other as they kissed, kissed deep and long, the stranger propped against the pool table and Mokuba yearning into him.

* * *

"Master Mokuba, sir."

They had paused for breath, still entwined—and the words fell flat between them. _Isono. Shit!_ Mokuba shot a glance out of the corner of his eye—it was indeed his brother's PR director, staring pointedly at a spot just beyond the two of them, face rigid.

The stranger released him as he stepped backwards. "Yes?" Mokuba straightened, gave the newcomer his best Kaiba glare.

Isono was not impressed. "It's nearly time for dinner. Mr. Otogi asked me to find you."

"Well, you can tell him you've found me."

Isono coughed. "He suggested that I bring you to him."

Mokuba knew himself beaten; he nodded stiffly to Isono. He turned back to his companion, but found himself unable to meet the other's eye—instead he focused on the other's shoes. "Please-" he started, then stood there thick-tongued. What could he say in front of Isono? "—See you around," he finished. Finally he dared to look up—but found his stranger's face averted, eyes hidden behind that jagged blond curtain. After a breath, the other's lips curled upward, then spoke. "See you."

Isono had retreated through the door and was looking over his shoulder at the two of them; Mokuba followed. He didn't trust himself to look back.

His brother's staffer picked up the pace; Mokuba had to run to keep up. They turned down a crowded aisle.

Someone bumped heavily into Mokuba.

"Very sorry, my apologies," said a hurried voice; a hand reached out to steady him. Mokuba caught a flash of anxious-looking purple eyes before the other moved rapidly on.

"Hang on, Yuugi!" said someone else, pushing after. Mokuba's eyes opened wide. It was Otogi's ex-boyfriend. The latter spared not a glance for Mokuba. "Bakura says Jounouchi went into the poolroom about half an hour ago."

Mokuba froze, stared after the two unfamiliar figures. _Poolroom._ "Jounouchi?" he whispered. _Jounouchi._

"Master Mokuba!" He whipped his attention back at Isono's acid tone. The man's mustache fairly bristled with irritation. "Coming," he muttered, and went.

_Jounouchi._

* * *

Jounouchi withdrew hands from pockets, stared at them. This palm had touched the boy's cheek, those fingers had felt his hair.

He cradled one hand in the other. "Mokuba," he said softly, gazing at the empty door. _Mokuba._

Unwillingly, he acknowledged the way the staffer had addressed the other. "**_Master_ **_Mokuba." ... "It's my birthday." _

"What have I gotten myself into?" he asked the air.

Almost as though in answer, he heard Yuugi's voice, urgent, approaching.

"Jounouchi!"

"You're sure you saw him heading this way?" Honda.

"I think so." Bakura's soft tones.

Now the three of them had pushed through the swinging doors. Yuugi looked agitated, Honda darkly shuttered, Bakura out of breath.

"Guys?"

"No time to lose, bro. We need to get moving."

"What the-"

"Kaiba recognized me from the other day."

"And looked _really_ pissed," Bakura added. "We figured it was time to cut our losses and go before we got kicked out."

"What about getting to know the folks at the party?" _What about my promise to him?_

"This from the man we had to drag here kicking and screaming? Come on, we can compare notes later." Honda's hand landed in the small of Jounouchi's back, scooped him along. The four of them edged through the crowded aisles. They crossed the lobby and were through the door just as speakers blared above: "Join us all for a dinner buffet in the back room. We're going to celebrate a special birthday tonight..."

* * *

Thanks again to PuppieLove for beta-ing! You rock. I'm also indebted to _The Black Widow's Guide to Killer Pool_ by Jeanette Lee and Adam Scott Gershenson (New York: Three Rivers Press, 2000), the excellent children's novel _Sticks_ by Marion Dane Bauer, and Ankhutenshi (who vetted the pool description). Any mistakes in depicting the game are most definitely my own. ::sweatdrop::

P.S. Tuulikki and Ashes, you know just how to reassure a writer! Thanks, m'dears.


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